Cochise College Mass Desensitization Portrayed in The Lottery Story Analysis The assignment is to do an analysis on the short story ” The lottery”I will at

Cochise College Mass Desensitization Portrayed in The Lottery Story Analysis The assignment is to do an analysis on the short story ” The lottery”I will attach additional documents that will go into greater detail 1
English 101: Story Analysis Introduction
Below are some of the main basic elements in the study of story art, in this case short
fiction. For this Short Story Analysis, the final paper of the semester, we will first read and
discuss a number of short stories (I plan the present at least three). After we examine the stories,
I will assign prewriting, an introductory paragraph, and an outline for this paper. I will also post
at least one student model of this kind of analysis. The final due date for this paper is scheduled
for July 21st.
Basic Elements of Fiction:
Setting: This element pertains to where and when the story takes place. This element is most
often relevant to the intrinsic nature of the story; it usually serves as a part of the plot
mechanism, and is very often significant thematically.
Plot: (Conflict, Crisis, Climax, Resolution): The basic components of plot are present in all story
art, from a biography of George Patton, to Shakespeare’s Othello, to the stories your
grandmother told you. Story is intrinsic to being human the same as music or any other art form.
Point of View: This refers to what entity tells the story. Some stories, like Shirley Jackson’s
“The Lottery” are told by an outside voice, an objective entity. Some are told by a character
within the story. Who or what tells the story is always relevant to the plot and theme of the story.
Character Change/Epiphany: The protagonist/main character of any story undergoes some
manner of fundamental transformation toward the end of the story. In commercial story, such as
a crime drama, the protagonist always has a moment of enlightenment—the light bulb comes on
and he knows who the real bad guy is. His partner! In more complex story art, that moment of
enlightenment, or epiphany, tends to be more subtle.
Theme/Meaning: Theme pertains to a discussion of the story that transcends its literal aspects.
Nowhere in Jackson’s “The Lottery”, for example, does she directly mention the paradoxical
nature of Humanity, though many scholars would contend that to be a main theme of the story.
Nowhere in The Lion King does anyone directly say, “You can’t run from your birthright
responsibilities; they will hunt you down.” But one could contend that is the message of this
2
story. Theme or meaning is the way in which we derive a thesis for writing an analysis on the
story.
For each of the stories presented, we will approach them from the basis of these
fundamental elements. From quizzes and online discussions, as well as from short video lectures,
we will analyze the stories presented. You will choose one of the presented stories on which to
write your final paper.
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
“The Lottery” (1948)
by Shirley Jackson
The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers
were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in
the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o’clock; in some towns there were so many
people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there
were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten
o’clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.
The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of
liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke
into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands.
Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his
example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix– the
villagers pronounced this name “Dellacroy”–eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the
square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves,
looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.
Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and
taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they
smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after
their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands.
Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came
reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother’s grasping hand
and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and
took his place between his father and his oldest brother.
The lottery was conducted–as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program–by Mr.
Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he
ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a
scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of
conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. “Little late today, folks.” The postmaster, Mr.
Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and
Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between
themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, “Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?”
there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the
box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.
The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the
stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr.
Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as
much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been
made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first
people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking
again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything’s being done.
file:///Users/carolynsigler/Desktop/lotry.html (1 of 8)1/23/2005 7:58:04 AM
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly
along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.
Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had
stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or
discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood
that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well
when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on
growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before
the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was
then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers’ coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take
it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes
another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves’s barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and
sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.
There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were
the lists to make up–of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each
household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the
official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort,
performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each
year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it,
others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the
ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had
had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with
time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr.
Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting
carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves
and the Martins.
Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came
hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the
back of the crowd. “Clean forgot what day it was,” she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and
they both laughed softly. “Thought my old man was out back stacking wood,” Mrs. Hutchinson went on.
“and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twentyseventh and came a-running.” She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, “You’re in time,
though. They’re still talking away up there.”
Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing
near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through
the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices
just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, “Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson,” and “Bill, she
made it after all.” Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said
cheerfully. “Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie.” Mrs. Hutchinson said.
grinning, “Wouldn’t have me leave m’dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?,” and soft laughter ran
through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson’s arrival.
“Well, now.” Mr. Summers said soberly, “guess we better get started, get this over with, so’s we can go
back to work. Anybody ain’t here?”
file:///Users/carolynsigler/Desktop/lotry.html (2 of 8)1/23/2005 7:58:04 AM
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
“Dunbar.” several people said. “Dunbar. Dunbar.”
Mr. Summers consulted his list. “Clyde Dunbar.” he said. “That’s right. He’s broke his leg, hasn’t he?
Who’s drawing for him?”
“Me. I guess,” a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. “Wife draws for her husband.” Mr.
Summers said. “Don’t you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?” Although Mr. Summers and
everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the
lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while
Mrs. Dunbar answered.
“Horace’s not but sixteen vet.” Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. “Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this
year.”
“Right.” Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, “Watson boy
drawing this year?”
A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. “Here,” he said. “I’m drawing for my mother and me.” He blinked
his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like “Good fellow,
lack.” and “Glad to see your mother’s got a man to do it.”
“Well,” Mr. Summers said, “guess that’s everyone. Old Man Warner make it?”
“Here,” a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.
A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. “All ready?” he
called. “Now, I’ll read the names–heads of families first–and the men come up and take a paper out of
the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn.
Everything clear?”
The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were
quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, “Adams.”
A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. “Hi. Steve.” Mr. Summers said. and Mr.
Adams said. “Hi. Joe.” They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached
into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went
hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at
his hand.
“Allen.” Mr. Summers said. “Anderson…. Bentham.”
“Seems like there’s no time at all between lotteries any more.” Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the
back row.
“Seems like we got through with the last one only last week.”
“Time sure goes fast.– Mrs. Graves said.
file:///Users/carolynsigler/Desktop/lotry.html (3 of 8)1/23/2005 7:58:04 AM
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
“Clark…. Delacroix”
“There goes my old man.” Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.
“Dunbar,” Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said.
“Go on. Janey,” and another said, “There she goes.”
“We’re next.” Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box,
greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd
there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously
Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.
“Harburt…. Hutchinson.”
“Get up there, Bill,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed.
“Jones.”
“They do say,” Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, “that over in the north
village they’re talking of giving up the lottery.”
Old Man Warner snorted. “Pack of crazy fools,” he said. “Listening to the young folks, nothing’s good
enough for them. Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any
more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about ‘Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.’ First thing
you know, we’d all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There’s always been a lottery,” he added
petulantly. “Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody.”
“Some places have already quit lotteries.” Mrs. Adams said.
“Nothing but trouble in that,” Old Man Warner said stoutly. “Pack of young fools.”
“Martin.” And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. “Overdyke…. Percy.”
“I wish they’d hurry,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. “I wish they’d hurry.”
“They’re almost through,” her son said.
“You get ready to run tell Dad,” Mrs. Dunbar said.
Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box.
Then he called, “Warner.”
“Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery,” Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd.
“Seventy-seventh time.”
file:///Users/carolynsigler/Desktop/lotry.html (4 of 8)1/23/2005 7:58:04 AM
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
“Watson” The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, “Don’t be nervous, Jack,” and
Mr. Summers said, “Take your time, son.”
“Zanini.”
After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the
air, said, “All right, fellows.” For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened.
Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. “Who is it?,” “Who’s got it?,” “Is it the
Dunbars?,” “Is it the Watsons?” Then the voices began to say, “It’s Hutchinson. It’s Bill,” “Bill
Hutchinson’s got it.”
“Go tell your father,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.
People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at
the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. “You didn’t give him time
enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn’t fair!”
“Be a good sport, Tessie.” Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, “All of us took the same chance.”
“Shut up, Tessie,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“Well, everyone,” Mr. Summers said, “that was done pretty fast, and now we’ve got to be hurrying a little
more to get done in time.” He consulted his next list. “Bill,” he said, “you draw for the Hutchinson
family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?”
“There’s Don and Eva,” Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. “Make them take their chance!”
“Daughters draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,” Mr. Summers said gently. “You know that as
well as anyone else.”
“It wasn’t fair,” Tessie said.
“I guess not, Joe.” Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. “My daughter draws with her husband’s family; that’s
only fair. And I’ve got no other family except the kids.”
“Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it’s you,” Mr. Summers said in explanation, “and as far
as drawing for households is concerned, that’s you, too. Right?”
“Right,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“How many kids, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked formally.
“Three,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“There’s Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me.”
file:///Users/carolynsigler/Desktop/lotry.html (5 of 8)1/23/2005 7:58:04 AM
The Lottery–Shirley Jackson
“All right, then,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you got their tickets back?”
Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. “Put them in the box, then,” Mr. Summers directed.
“Take Bill’s and put it in.”
“I think we ought to start over,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. “I tell you it wasn’t fair.
You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that.”
Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers but those
onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.
“Listen, everybody,” Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.
“Ready, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and
children. nodded.
“Remember,” Mr. Summers said. “take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one.
Harry, you help little Dave.” Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up
to the box. “Take a paper out of the box, Davy.” Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and
laughed. “Take just one paper.” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you hold it for him.” Mr. Graves took the
child’s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to
him and looked up at him wonderingly.
“Nancy next,” Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went
forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box “Bill, Jr.,” Mr. Summers said, and Billy,
his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. “Tessie,” Mr.
Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to
the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.
“Bill,” Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand
out at last with the slip of paper in it.
The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, “I hope it’s not Nancy,” and the sound of the whisper reached the
edges of the crowd.
“It’s not the way it u…
Purchase answer to see full
attachment